bad blood
by kathleenfergie
Summary: A story in three parts, detailing the progression of Draco and Hermione's relationship, from strangers to close friends at St. Mungo's Magical Medical College for Esteemed Healers. Post-Hogwarts. AU.
1. PART ONE

_ok. kat's trying a chapfic. everybody pray. i have high hopes, friends, so like yeah._

 _this piece was inspired by this post on tumblr post/85275625940 that i saw ages ago and have wanted to write a thing for since. this was the brainchild that came of it._

 _so yeah, three parts. draco and hermione studying to become healers at my made up college based under st. mungo's. starts three years after the books end. really hope you enjoy bc it's been cooking or a while._

 _gotta edit part two and write part three, but we'll get there. slowly but fucking surely._

 _don't own shit._

* * *

 _PART ONE_

AUGUST, 2001

Draco Malfoy sat opposite of Hippocrates Smethwyck, the esteemed wizard lounging in a very elaborate, cushioned desk chair as he reviewed the young wizard's academic application. Peering over his glasses at the twenty year old, he noted the man's nervous energy. It was a rarity, as the well known and well documented wizard was often seen in a stoic state.

"Mr. Malfoy," Hippocrates began. "While your academic record is exceptional, I would like you to know that I am hesitant to admit you into my college."

The blond nodded; it wasn't unusual for Draco to be rejected by those who were aware of his past. The wizarding world was fond of picking a group of people to hate, and the Death Eaters that survived the war trials were at the top of the list now. He couldn't be surprised that such an institute would like to reject him access.

"When I worked in the Dai Llewellyn Ward, Mr. Malfoy, I saw many of the awful things that the Death Eaters did to my people, before and after the great war. I'm not so sure it would be acceptable to allow a former follower of the Dark Lord to study such a sacred practice as healing."

St. Mungo's Magical Medical College for Esteemed Healers, located under the famous London hospital, was an esteemed post secondary institution. At first, all Draco knew was that it was winding to say the name of it, but with research he developed a desire to study there. Draco had read that Smethwyck had only been the college's headmaster for a couple of years, but he knew of the healer's earlier work.

"I understand your concern, sir. I'm sure you don't want the good name of St. Mungo's tarnished by my history." Draco was tired already, this same speech exhausted to many other wizards around England. "I wish only to help those that I may have caused pain to during my time as a Death Eater."

However, the statement was true, no matter how many times Draco had to repeat it. He did not enjoy the scrutiny he was put under day to day, but understood it. Though many of Potter's golden heroes had testified for him in court and helped him toward a clean record, the majority of the wizarding population could not look past his mark.

"I'm sure you've heard what people are saying these days," Hippocrates smirked. "That those who fell in line with the Dark Lord have got _bad blood_." The wizard laughed, pushing his glasses up.

"It's been brought up in conversations, yes," Draco answered. "I have done all I can to rebuild my life since the war's end. I have donated family money to the reconstruction of our world and am truly remorseful for my actions." Draco paused, thinking of his father in Azkaban and his lonely mother. Narcissa barely left the Manor, only for events she thought would better her reputation. "I would be grateful for the opportunity to outshine my previous deeds. It seems that healing is something I feel I would excell in."

His mark started to itch, the familiar phantom pain of its creator still there. Draco fought the urge to fiddle with his shirtsleeve and waited for the wizard to respond.

"I see," is all Smethwyck says before dismissing him.

Draco left the meeting with no hope that he'll be admitted, but an owl finds him two weeks later with a letter of acceptance, bad blood and all. Narcissa throws a grand party for him, inviting all that she can. She makes some excuse to donate to charity in his name. _A way to better our family_ , she says, a broken record.

His mother mentions offhand at dinner the night before that the Golden Trio will be in attendance, and he holds back a grimace when she tells him that Miss Hermione Granger will be one of his classmates. It's a dreadful thought, the bushy know it all in close proximity for the next four years of his life.

Draco did indeed end up reading the special written on her that detailed her acceptance and career goals. She wanted to work at Hogwarts, focusing on the protection of the students' mental health, as there were many that were traumatized by the events of the war but never got the attention they needed. Those that were first years in his frightening seventh year would be gone by the time that she'd get there, but it was an admirable career.

Draco was unsure where he wanted to take his studies, but there was a definite interest in a career abroad. It was true that the wizarding world outside of England knew about the Dark Lord's terror, but he would be in less danger of being identified every second of every day.

It was a large college and Draco doubted the two would see each other often after their first year. He'd been on a tour the day of his meeting with Smethwyck and noted the archaic way it had looked. It wasn't older than Hogwarts, but the dates were close. The classrooms were large amphitheatres, with few small specialized rooms.

They had medical tables and cabinets, as expected, but as most of his world looked, it was outdated and in need of refurbishing. Draco wondered if everything was handed down from the hospital upstairs.

Draco purchased a private dormitory, not wanting the hassle of flooing back and forth from the Manor or dealing with a flat in busy London. Not living with his mother was ideal. He loved the woman dearly but she coddled him too much these days. He'd still have tea with her every Sunday, as was expected of a good son, but the lack of her would be refreshing.

He moved in the week before classes began, his small dormitory somewhat suffocating. Draco had no doubt that he'd get used to it as the year moved on, but the haughty stairs from his floormates didn't help to calm his nerves. He kept his mark covered at all times and his head down. He didn't want unneeded attention, but it was there nonetheless.

* * *

The first month of classes passed without incident; he had everything he needed and kept up with his studies. Unlike Hogwarts, he didn't have his two friends by his side every hour to keep him entertained. Instead, he spent most of his time in his dorm or in the extensive medical library attached to the college. It was above ground, however, and one had to traverse through many tunnels to reach it.

This factor lead to the dead silence that accompanied its stacks most often, Draco using the same table for his work each day. He caught glimpses of Granger every now and then, the library most likely her haven, but they never spoke.

On nights he couldn't sleep he'd go for walks in the hospital gardens, keeping his distance from patients that were out stretching their legs, nurses beside them. He recognized a few from the war but didn't focus too hard on them.

It hurt to think of what he'd done (despite how little it actually was). His mark itched at the sight of the war's victims.

Some nights he'd owl his mother back or send small letters to Ollivander, who he'd become surprisingly close with after the war.

After Potter had taken his wand at the Manor, it was sent back to Draco by owl. He soon found out that it no longer worked for him, and for months he'd go to Ollivander's, asking the old man what could be wrong. Every new wand refused to work for him and Ollivander had been deeply perplexed, helping Draco research what could have gone wrong when his wand was taken.

Discovering the switch in his wand hand had been an accident, one slow afternoon changing Draco's life. He'd been putting away hopeful wands that had all failed to choose him as a pair of children ran through the adjacent aisle, bumping the shelf forcefully. An avalanche of wands soon followed, crashing down onto Draco's back. He'd scooped up the wands that would need to be resorted into their boxes, and his left hand had grasped one.

It immediately caused unbearable pain in his arm, but he could not let go of the wand. For hours his body spurted magic that had been kept dormant inside the wizard since the end of the war. He'd almost wept that day, Draco's fear that he'd lost his magic extinguished.

It turned out to be an aspen wand with a core of coral, thirteen inches, from Mykew Gregorovitch's shop; the other wandmaker had left his stock to Ollivander in his will. Draco paid Ollivander four times the price of the wand and left the shop feeling renewed. He returned to Hogwarts and promptly finished his seventh year, after which he became Ollivander's assistant for a number of months.

Despite the events that had occurred at the Manor, where the old man had been locked in the Malfoys' cellar, Ollivander was very kind to Draco. Draco in turn helped him with the shop, as the older wizard was very fragile. Ollivander often sent him letters detailing the incompetency of his new assistants, which made Draco chuckle some days.

One evening, while walking through the gardens, Draco found himself spelling flowers open. He often did this to examine the plants, knowing that some of them were grown specifically for the hospital's potion stock. On his last flower, footsteps caught his attention.

"They don't grow properly if you open them at night, you know," a feminine voice told him, Hermione Granger coming to stand where he knelt. Peering up, he took in the sight of the frizzy witch. She had her hair up in a bun and a thick sweater with the letter _H_ emblazoned on the front. A Molly Weasley special, no doubt. Despite the night's chill, she wore a pair of jean shorts. "You always were rubbish at herbology, Malfoy."

"Thank you for reminding me," he sighed, standing. "I seem to recall you almost failing the exam, _Granger_." She rolled her eyes at the comment, but there wasn't any malice in her gaze. He closed the flower, tucking his wand into its holster on his left arm. "I've been studying them. They've been giving them awful fertilizer lately and the anthers aren't pollinating properly. I've sent many notes to the head of the department."

The witch smirked and Draco noticed how different she looked in person. He'd seen her at various events and in the halls, but never up close, except for in pictures. They'd completed their seventh year at different intervals, but she'd been at the graduation ceremony, as McGonagall had wanted their generation to come together. The great feast had been in June, a year ago. Granger, naturally, had been valedictorian and Draco had intoxicatingly sat through her twenty minute speech about blood equality.

"The departments here are godawful. I know for a fact none of them have read any of my suggestions," she shared, frowning. Her eyes flicked briefly to his holster which concealed his mark.

Draco challenged her with a look, daring her to say something about his past. It wouldn't surprise him, honestly, with his _bad blood_.

"You shouldn't have to keep that covered," she said softly. The comment caught him off guard, but he didn't let her know that.

"Personal choice, Granger." It was odd, talking calmly with her after all the years of violent debates and slurs. "I'd rather nobody see it than to have them skin it off me." He laughed bitterly and she tucked a strand of hair away from her face, avoiding his eyes. He noticed her own arm was covered, a bandage where her famous scar should be. "You're one to talk," he told her, nodding toward it.

Lips pursed, she crossed her arms.

"It's a cursed wound, Malfoy, and happens to still be bleeding." Granger sounded annoyed and he chastised himself internally.

Draco knew well enough that his aunt's knife had been cursed when she'd dug it into Granger's arm, the memory of her screams imprinted in his psyche. The holster comment had spurred the inappropriate jibe and he regretted it immediately, knowing hers hadn't been ill mannered.

"I'm sorry," he responded softly.

Granger seemed perplexed by the apology, but thanked him. They were silent for a couple moments before Draco laughed suddenly.

"Anyway, you should go. Shouldn't be seen with me," Draco said.

"Whyever not?"

"Oh because they all say I've got bad blood. Haven't you heard?" It was almost a joke, but Draco could tell that she didn't find it quite as funny as he did, stalking past him with a glare.

"We all do these days, Malfoy. It just depends who's pointing the fingers."

* * *

At the beginning of second term, Draco's put into a partnership with Granger. They're studying several types of magical healing rocks, as Draco calls them.

 _Geodes, Malfoy, geodes_ , Hermione admonishes more than once throughout the course of their research. She works fast and takes amazing notes, perfect penmanship and all, while he links relevant information to the specific illnesses they are combatting.

Their oral presentation, accompanied by slides and a sample of each geode (Draco went to every bazaar in England, he swears), goes quite smoothly, with only one tangent provided by Granger. Draco coins it a success and they get an O on everything. He drinks the weekend away while she no doubt continues researching _magical healing rocks_.

At Sunday tea he tells his mother all about it, the blonde witch smiling at every mention of girl-wonder.

Narcissa developed a strange connection to the trio after saving Potter's life. Considering all the charity banquets she held in their honour, the three were very grateful for the Malfoy matriarch. Potter spoke fondly of her in any interview that focused on the battle of Hogwarts. Granger came to every single one of Narcissa's non-trio focused events.

Weasley, after the death of his brother, stepped in Fred's place to help George develop several new divisions of Weasley Wizard Wheezes. Draco's mother invested a large share in its development and therefore got many kind gifts from the two businessmen. They were all surprisingly devoid of crude jokes, something Draco could not say for himself. His house elves often met the brunt end of stink bombs or coloured powders after opening his packages.

His personal elf, Higgles, had unfortunately been a number of colours the past two years. Draco was very kind, however, and never made any comment about it.

Narcissa asked him a number of questions about their assignment and its particulars, asking him to show her the geodes sometime. She'd seen them made into jewelry, but never seen a raw one up close. He agreed, after a slew of queries about his partner.

As tea ended, Narcissa called for Draco's elf, standing to admire the lavender she had recently planted in her flower strewn sun porch.

"Mistress!" Hig's small elf voice sounded her arrival as she popped to Narcissa's side immediately.

"Please pack up any remaining sweets and send them to Miss Hermione Granger on our behalf. Add a bottle of cabernet sauvignon as well." She thanked the elf, dismissing her. Draco rolled his eyes at his mother's actions but let her do so without protest. He'd tell Granger it was all his mother's idea, as she would most likely mention it the next time they saw each other.

Narcissa turned back to her son, offering a dazzling smile.

"Draco, dear, kindly invite Miss Granger over for tea when you see her."

"Mother," he began, but Narcissa's delicate hand stopped him.

"Draco," she said heavily. "This Manor caused Miss Granger too much grief during the war. I would like to show her that it is no longer the place of horrors that it once was. Something slightly more personal than a grand ball would be appropriate, don't you think?"

He knew it caused his mother pain to talk about Granger's torture. On the day of his father's trial, Narcissa burned the drawing room, magically sealing it off. Draco had done something similar to his father's old dining room. Eventually he had someone remodel it, but nothing original remained. Too many things had taken place in that room, on that table. He couldn't look at the head chair without seeing Lord Voldemort.

He'd burn the whole Manor if he could, but it wasn't his yet. His father was still alive in Azkaban, and until he died there, Draco couldn't do anything too substantial to his home.

"Of course, mother," he replied after some thought. "I will talk to Granger this week."

* * *

Granger took all the same classes as Draco and he saw her frequently, but since the completion of their assignment they were no longer required to associate with one another. Granger returned to sitting in her regular spot in every class. He didn't mind it, but it gave him less opportunities to talk to her about his mother's request.

He knew that by the end of the year each student had to declare their area of specialty (Draco had yet to pinpoint any), making it likely that he would see her less and less. If she chose to study abroad for a semester, he wouldn't see her for almost a year.

Draco had no desire to work at Mungo's, knowing too many people that came through the hospital. He was vastly more interested in international work. St. Mungo's was definitely the largest hospital in the wizarding world but their were many others around the world. If he chose a specific path he could most likely find a hospital somewhere that specialized in it.

He was currently in Medicinal Potions and Salves, listening to his professor prattle on. They were in a lecture hall three days out of the week doing theory, and then spent the other two in labs practicing. Draco had an hour long break after this class, and deemed that today would be an appropriate time to approach Granger.

At the end of the class, he looked down to see that she was taking her time packing up, and so he waited near the door. Draco imagined the exchange would be awkward for the both of them, but he didn't fancy lying to his mother. He'd like it much more if Granger declined on her own, rather than him making up a story this upcoming Sunday.

A number of students that milled past him sent Draco strange looks, but he gave them no mind. Eventually the witch made her way toward him and he sighed in preparation for a casual conversation with girl wonder. Catching her attention, he led her out of the classroom to a semi-secluded spot in the hall.

"Malfoy?" She asked, struggling to keep her book bag on her shoulder. "Is this about our assignment grade? I asked the Professor O'Meara what the percentage was and she gave us a 97."

"No, not at all," he began. "That's wonderful. Actually, I have something to ask you on behalf of my mother."

"Oh. She didn't mention anything in her note." She blushed slightly. "The gift was lovely, by the way, but I don't understand why she sent it." Granger paused to laugh at herself. "I don't even know what to drink the wine with.

"Fatty red meats, it's delicious. That's not what I needed to talk to about, though. Mother thought it improper to simply ask you by owl," Draco started, but he was promptly interrupted by a loud voice.

"Hermione? Everything alright?" A tall male student came up beside the pair, scowling at Draco. "What are you doing with him.

Hermione looked slightly irritated and patted the other student's arm.

"I'm fine, Thomas. We're just talking." _Thomas_ didn't look very convinced, and Hermione pushed him playfully. "I'll catch up with you in Herbs, I promise." Thankfully, he caught the dismissal and turned away, but Draco watched him turn back a couple of times. "Apologies. Thomas Collins, a friend. Tends to think I need a bodyguard. Actually, that's pretty much everyone, but that's not the point. What did you need to ask me?"

"Err, mother wanted to know if you'd join us for tea on Sunday. It's thanks for being an excellent partner this term." Granger looked momentarily stunned, but she caught herself as Draco continued. "She's a bit over the top, I know, but she's fond of you."

Hermione smiled briefly at the comment, fiddling with her hair.

"Well, thank you, Malfoy," she said nervously. "I, uh, accept?"

Biting the inside of his cheek, Draco wondered how he could get out of this Sunday's tea. He didn't hate Granger by any means, but he surely didn't want to spend a whole afternoon with her and his mother around the Manor.

"Wonderful," he replied tightly.

* * *

"Wow," she said, coming up behind him in the gardens the week after tea. "That was the strangest experience of my life. And I've been your aunt."

"Good evening to you as well, Granger," he bit out, straightening up on the bench he'd been peacefully occupying. She sat opposite him, folding her legs under herself. "Should I assume you are referring to tea with my mother?"

She rolled her eyes at him, resting her chin on a fist.

"What do you mean you've been my aunt?" Draco asked after a moment.

"Polyjuice. Long story, not important," she dismissed his question. She muttered a _lumos_ charm, lighting the lamp behind them, letting Draco see her face clearly. "Yes, I was talking about your mother. Lovely lady, as you know, but a lot. Obviously her public personality is different from her private, but I didn't think she would be so, so _much_."

"Trust me Granger, you should see how she acts around Pansy. Dreadful. I can barely get a word in some days." Draco sneered. "At least she wasn't telling stories about _you_ in your nappies. Merlin, I hadn't even _heard_ some of them before."

Granger both paled and burst into laughter all in one minute, much to the annoyance of Draco.

"I especially enjoyed the one about your house elf rescuing you from her roses," Granger said, still chuckling.

"Yes I suppose you would."

It was painful, to say the least. Narcissa spent the entire time embarrassing her son, regaling Granger with tales of Draco's childhood mischief, all the while asking questions about her studies.

Despite his chagrin, he did learn some interesting things about her, like what she was planning to write her senior thesis about. The paper wouldn't be written for a couple more years, and while it was a sensitive subject for Granger, it was still quite an intriguing one.

There were no visible effects of the Cruciatus curse on Granger, but he'd spent enough time around her to know that she had been changed by her torture. When she'd raise her hand in lecture halls, he notice the peculiar shake of arm or how under pressure she exhibited several nervous ticks. Before their oral presentation he thought she was about to have an anxiety attack.

When their party had passed the door that previously guarded the drawing room, Draco saw Granger tense up, her breathing becoming uneven. Narcissa led her swiftly past it, though, and the witch returned to normal.

He knew what the Cruciatus could do to people, the story of Neville Longbottom's parents not one to be forgotten. Several of the students were submitted to it when the Carrow's reigned over Hogwarts; Draco suspected that must have been why Hermione was so interested in the students' minds at Hogwarts.

"It wasn't that bad," Granger said to him. "I'm sure it made your mother happy."

"It definitely did. She probably wants to send you more wine,"

"Merlin, I haven't even opened the first one. I'm too afraid to waist such a nice bottle." She laughed at herself for a moment. Growing silent, she eyed Draco hesitantly. "Would you like to split it sometime?"

"Oh, Granger, I'm sure one of your many suitors would be so charmed to hear those words," Draco teased. She gave him a sour look, crossing her arms with a huff. "Can't help that you're popular, Granger. Whatever happened to you and Weasley, anyway?"

"Tried it; too weird," she explained simply. "Ron's like a brother, same as Harry."

* * *

"Of course," Draco replied.

It was strange, the friendship the two of them developed in the last month of the year. They spent nearly every evening silently studying together in the library, Draco's table no longer his solitary post. Hermione brought snacks with her often, Draco joking that it was the only reason she was allowed near him. He usually got a biscuit thrown at him after comments like that.

They weren't paired together again after their presentation, so there were times when either would be absent from their nightly meetings, but it didn't bother either of them much. Hermione knew the library's inner workings better than her own name and helped in many last minute situations, which she would chastised him for.

She found out quickly that Draco made excellent Pepper-Up, which pushed the both of them through many a paper. In their last week of classes the two were either in class, asleep, or at the library all night. Hermione conjured ice more than once for her aching wrist (Draco made a couple lewd jokes that got him banned from her biscuits) and more than once had to _scourgify_ knocked over ink bottles.

The librarian chuckled softly every time he saw the two of them enter.

One of Hermione's classes ended a few days early, leaving her free to join him in the hour he had open after Medicinal Potions and Salves for the rest of the week. She planned to quiz him while they ate, and Draco kissed his academic free lunch goodbye.

That said Wednesday, they were making their way to the college's dining hall, pushing past hurried students in the cramped halls when Thomas Collins approached the pair. Collins was much taller than Draco, and he gave the blond a looming glare. Several students jostled them, annoyed at the others for taking up the middle of the corridor.

"Hermione," he began, putting a hand on her arm, as she had a month ago. "Can I talk to you for a second? Uh, privately?"

"Draco and I were just on our way to eat, Thomas. You could walk with us and talk with me," she told him, flicking her gaze between the two males. "I don't think the hallway is the best place for a chat, though, so we should move."

"I was hoping to talk to you alone, please. It's about _him_." Collins sent another death glance toward Draco, who only sighed heavily. He imagined the rest of the conversation would go by very painfully.

"Draco?" Hermione asked nervously. "What about him?"

"Hermione, I don't think you should be hanging out with Malfoy. At all."

She laughed, thinking it was a joke, but quickly noticed how serious her friend actually was.

"Why would you say that? We've spent time together all year." Hermione looked around her, noticing that some students were starting to stare at them. "Draco's perfectly safe.'

"You shouldn't lower yourself like this, Hermione," Collins began.

" _Excuse_ me?" Was Hermione's curt interruption.

"Well, you know. He's a Death Eater. Just because he keeps his dark mark covered doesn't mean anything." Collins tried to pull Hermione aside but she shook his hand off forcefully, stepping in front of Draco partially.

Draco smartly kept quiet, letting Hermione deal with her imbecile.

"The Death Eaters, they've got bad blood, they're all evil. You of all people should know that, Hermione." Everybody around them was quiet all of a sudden, and Draco barely had time to react as Hermione pushed her books into his arms, promptly punching Collins in the face.

"Please, Thomas, say it one more time, I _dare_ you," she seethed, shaking the pain out of her hand. " _I_ of all people? The Mudblood? I know what it's like when asshole bigots like you focus on blood instead of character."

"Hermione, please," Draco tried to pull her away. She was standing over Collins, who was sitting on his ass, clutching his bleeding nose.

"No, Draco. This is ridiculous." She continued, her voice raised. "What do you think we should do, Thomas? Shun all the Death Eaters who are trying to move on and make better lives for themselves? Hunt them all down, take away everything from them? _Kill_ them? Does that sound fucking familiar?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Collins cried, scooting away from the enraged witch.

Hermione turned away from him, taking her books back. She grabbed one of Draco's hands and dragged him away, students moving out of their way.

"Hermione," Draco hissed. "Where are we going?"

"I have a bottle of wine that needs drinking."

 _END PART ONE_


	2. PART TWO

_whoop part two. this and part three are about a thousand words shorter than pt1 and sort of focus more on isolated times in their relationship, whereas the first part was meant to like establish who they were after the war._

 _part three is written and i'll put it up tomorrow. thanks for all the support!_

 _again, don't own shit. ms. rowling in my heart._

* * *

 _PART TWO_

NOVEMBER, 2005

"You know, Granger, it's considered a crime to steal a man's wine," Draco drawled, entering their shared, small kitchenette.

"You've many a bottle, Malfoy," she commented, turning from the cabinet to send him a cocked eyebrow. "You drink enough that I figured you wouldn't mind," she explained, tipping the wine bottle toward him in a question. Draco nodded, leaning against the door frame. "How's Minerva?"

"Oh, nothing special. Pursed lips and reprimands as usual," he replied. He'd gone to see McGonagall concerning his temper around the students that were difficult. Draco sometimes had trouble keeping calm when his work was being interrupted.

He watched Hermione reach for another wine glass, noticing the lift of her shirt hem revealing a stretch of scarred skin. There was a sporadic network of lines that traveled along her right hip and he recognized the scar pattern. When she turned to face him, she saw where his gaze was trained and pulled her shirt down quickly. Avoiding eye contact, she passed him in pursuit of the prized spot in the den.

Draco exhaled heavily and followed behind her.

They never talked much about the war despite the years they'd known each other. They opted to exist as the people they were now, not the children they were. Draco was definitely still caught up in webs of guilt over his days as a Death Eater, but as the years passed and he learned how to heal more people, it got better.

The pair reclined on the old sofa and Draco lit a fire with his wand.

"I've got too many marks to keep track of, but that one seems to catch people's attention," she remarked, uncorking the wine with her teeth. She set the cork on the coffee table before continuing and Draco rolled his eyes at her lack of grace. "It's one of your aunt's, you know?"

"I realized that. I have a similar mark on my left thigh." It was true, though Draco suspected Hermione's covered a much larger area. "I was the first test subject after its creation; I spilt tea on Aunt Bella's skirt when I was a boy and my mother wasn't around to stop her from disciplining me."

"I gather that was a recurring event?" She questioned, bringing the glass to her lips. Draco sneered, nodding. "It wasn't too different a feeling from the Cruciatus. Both felt like an electrical burn."

"Aunt Bella got the idea from lightning. She was an avid fan of rainstorms." Draco sighed just then, taking a rather deep sip of his mother's favourite pinot grigio. "How long did it bleed?"

"Eight months. It's one of my more attractive scars, I guess. The one on my arm took years to close up, but you know that. It still stings some days." Hermione fiddled with her sleeve, the cuff buttoned tightly around her wrist. She frowned, noticing that he was watching her do so. "I try to keep it covered so the kids don't get scared. You know how protective I am of them. However, the present seventh years are the last batch from the battle. All the others came after."

"I do pay attention to current events, Granger." Hermione was possibly the gentlest healer he'd ever encountered. Simpering first years calmed quickly under her touch and even the worst Slytherins were grateful for her presence in the hospital wing. Draco, however, left Hufflepuffs quaking. "You're good with them. Did you see that third year that wouldn't let me apply antiseptic to his gash?"

"I did, yes," she snorted. "I'm sure if you didn't scowl at them during your extensive lectures on their injuries they'd be less inclined to run away."

The thought that they were the perfect pair of rejects to be working in such a place crossed her mind often. One of them was feared and hated for their part in the war and the other still partially damned by some for their blood status.

"I'm sure they'll come around in a couple of months."

"Ah yes," he began, lifting his glass in mock toast. "They'll welcome me with open arms. I'll have tea with Hagrid every weekend. Maybe McGonagall will even let me shine her pensieve. It'll be _wonderful_ ," Draco scoffed and Hermione gave him an exasperated look. "Come on, Granger."

"Draco," she sighed, rolling her eyes out of sheer habit. They'd had this conversation many times and each one annoyed her more and more. "Their hardly perfect. A great deal of the wizarding world is still prejudiced - toward the both of us. You're still a Death Eater and I'm scum. It'll take time."

He nodded, trying to wash away the bitter taste in his mouth with more wine.

"Mm, Poppy will be out tomorrow to hand in our term reports. Just the two of us," Draco told her.

Mungo's residency students that were based at the hospital were lucky, their mentors only had to send the reports to the basement. Poor Poppy had to floo all the way to the college and spend the entire day waiting. There were so many students in alternative residencies outside the hospital that one could never know how long filtering the reports would take.

Draco knew Hermione's report would be covered in Outstandings (minus the one finger she was unable to set properly in early September). His would be fine, he suspected. The problem wasn't with him (mostly), it was the students.

Not many liked to be touched by him and he often had to be stern to get any ounce of cooperation. He had a few Gryffindors leave the hospital wing screaming accusations, saying he tried to poison them with his own potions, which had caused him to storm out in a furious rage. Hermione spent a half hour trying to convince him to come out of his room. Eventually he was back at a new patient's bedside, trying to forget the incident.

Poppy had a soft heart and didn't make too many comments about his fits, bringing him tea while he fumed in the den of his and Hermione's dorm.

"Cross your fingers, Malfoy. Don't want anybody dying on our watch," Hermione attempted to joke, her head rolling back against the sofa's arm. Draco had known her long enough to know she was a light weight and amusing when drunk. He poured more wine for the both of them, smirking at her state. "Looks like we'll be taking Pepper-Up tomorrow."

"Of course, Granger," he said. "It's routine."

She laughed in response, raising her glass toward him.

There were many times throughout their strange friendship - if that's what they were calling it - that Draco couldn't believe. That he was sitting and drinking with girl-wonder Hermione Granger inside the walls of Hoggy Warty Hogwarts was one of them.

* * *

The both of them did indeed end up taking Pepper-Up in the morning, sipping their coffee gingerly at the head table, casting frowns toward exuberant students that whooped or shouted from across the great hall.

A Gryffindor attempted to challenge a Ravenclaw to a volume contest, but Minerva shut it down as quickly as possible. The headmistress closed the meal with words about appropriate behaviour and the two healers thanked her internally as the students filtered out into the halls.

Hermione sent a smile to Neville as he made his way to the greenhouses, an array of twigs sticking to his robes.

"Do you think he sleeps with his bloody plants?" Draco asked in the middle of yawn, Hermione sputtering into her coffee.

"I wouldn't be surprised, honestly," she replied, laughing. "Suppose we should be off to the hospital wing?"

"Oh, if we must," Draco sighed, the bottom of his chair scraping violently against the platform as he stood. "Can we shuck the awful garb while Poppy is away or shall we be good healers and wear our uniforms?"

"You can get yourself covered in pumpkin juice if you please, but I'd rather keep my robes clean." Hermione did have a good point, Draco mused. "But yes, they are dreadful. They make me look like a period drama nurse."

Draco remembered a number of film dramas she'd coaxed him into watching back at college and agreed after a pause, sticked his hands into his trouser pockets as they walked.

"I doubt someone could wrangle your hair into a vintage style, Granger," he teased as they reached the hospital wing.

"Leave my hair alone, Malfoy," she grumbled, tucking a strand back into her attempted bun.

"Oh, never."

The day passed rather slowly, a couple of students coming to them with minor scrapes. Hermione remarked that the professors needed to learn some basic healing if they didn't want to send every other student to the hospital wing when they caught themselves on a bramble.

They were sitting on either side of Madam Pomfrey's desk, passing sections of the _Prophet_ back and forth when Oliver Wood barged in, the doors swinging open in a loud boom. There was a student levitated behind him, the entire glass still in their flying gear following. Oliver lowered the student, who seemed to be paralyzed, down onto one of the beds.

Both healers flew to the student's side quickly, assessing his condition.

"He caught a bludger in the chest during practice," the flying instructor explained, his Scottish lilt pained. "He started wheezing so I put him in a body bind. I thought it was safer to levitate him up her instead of trying to carry him.

The boy looked to be a third year, and his body was completely stiff.

"Professor, please send for a prefect to bring the students to their houses." Oliver did as he was instructed, Hermione cutting open the front of the boy's flying jumper to assess the damage. His chest was mangled, already severely bruised, and she fought to hold in a gasp, turning her gaze to Draco. He knew what she was thinking, and could tell from sight that the boy's ribs were shattered.

If Hermione's assumptions were correct, he could have a punctured lung and the two would have to operate on him at Hogwarts, the odds of safe transport to St. Mungo's very low.

"He's got a collapsed lung and is probably drowning in his own blood," Hermione told the professor as he came back to their side. "We're going to have to open him up and stitch the lung closed before setting his ribs."

"He's got too much internal bleeding, Granger," Draco warned. "I'll send a patronus to Poppy and get her to come with healers."

"No, we have to do this soon or he could die," she hissed. "Oliver, please strap his arms and legs in while we sanitize."

Oliver secured the boy, watching as the pair of novice healers argued.

"Hermione, this surgery is too serious. If we do it wrong, he's dead." He pulled on gloves quickly, wrapping a mask around his face as Hermione tied her hair back, performing a _scourgify_ on the both of them.

"He has a higher chance of dying if we try and floo him to Mungo's or wait for Poppy to get your message." Hermione let out a shaky breath, walking back to the bed. "Control the bleeding while I heal the lung. Setting the bones will be the easy part."

Oliver stood at the end of the bed as Draco lifted the body bind, the boy's breathing becoming raspy and violent before Hermione sedated him.

" _Spiro_." While he was no longer convulsing, Hermione did have to set a charm on his windpipe and lungs so that he would keep breathing with the healthy one and not the punctured lung.

The surgery took more than an hour, Draco's wand trained on his chest as the wizard muttered incantations to rid the chest cavity of blood as often as he could. With his free hand he pushed the organs that obstructed Hermione from doing her work. There was a moment of panic where the boy twitched in his sleep, causing a part of his lung to rip against Hermione's wand, but she pushed aside her internal frenzy to fix it quickly.

Eventually, they cleared his lung of any bone fragments and were able to close it, Hermione strengthening the breathing charm. If all was right, the lung would move properly again in a few days and get stronger. Both Draco and Hermione levitated his rib pieces into the right places, setting them more than once before closing up his chest. Draco took care of the stitching, dismissing Hermione.

He applied a potion to the stitches to help fight infection and carefully wrapped bandages around his torso and shoulder, summoning Skele-Gro and a chart from the back cabinet. He set the bottle on the bedside table for when the anesthetic wore off and the boy woke.

"Name?" Draco asked Wood, who was still at the foot of the bed, but paler than usual.

"Evan. Evan Nelson, third year. He's a Ravenclaw."

Draco nodded and walked the stricken professor out before returning to unstrap Evan and monitor his breathing. He wrote all the needed information on the boy's chart. He sent a note flying off to the Headmistress and placed a ward over the bed, one that would alarm him if anything changed. Draco discarded his surgery outfit, covered in blood, and went to see Hermione.

He found her on the floor of the den, her stained apron still around her waist. Her gloves and mask were thrown into the fireless hearth and she was crying heavily. Draco came to Hermione's side, pushing the small coffee table out of his way. He untied the apron and threw it into the hearth, vanishing the remaining blood on her clothes.

Draco placed a tentative hand on the woman's back, rubbing it lightly. He'd comforted her in such a way before, when she'd failed an exam on long term diseases. He'd been given an O, but he would never tell her that. Such a strange relationship the two of them had, he thought often.

"Hermione," he began quietly, urging her to sit up. "The boy, Evan, is in good condition. His lung will heal properly, thanks to you." She sobbed and he pulled her closer. Hermione put her head on his shoulder, the both of them leaning against the foot of the sofa. "Poppy will be prouder than ever, Minerva will say a speech. It'll be alright. I'm sure Flitwick will kiss your feet once he hears that you saved one of his students."

Hermione refused to speak, letting the adrenaline of the surgery wash off her.

She'd assisted a breached triplet birth and various other surgeries, all of which lasted hours, yet this was still the most difficult thing she'd ever done. It was very easy for her to let her healing knowledge take over and keep calm during procedures, but when his lung had ripped she'd spent the remainder in a panic.

She imagined having to do all that alone and the tears came more freely.

"Oh, please don't," Draco sighed, an arm coming around her. "You did a wonderful job, Hermione. Evan will send you flowers everyday. I'm sure Wood will make them all wear knight's armour from now on so that it doesn't happen again."

"I've never operated without supervision before," she choked out. "Not like that."

"I'm aware. I _did_ take all the same classes as you." It was true; they wouldn't be as close as they were now if it had been any different. "You've stopped arteries from bleeding out, Granger. Stitching a lung is child's play compared to that."

"It was a _cow_ , not a teenager, Draco!" She hissed.

"Both lived," he reminded her and she weakly pounded his chest, letting out a watery chuckle.

Minutes passed without conversation and Hermione eventually calmed down. She felt tired and heavy, and Draco helped her to her room. He shut the curtains, not wanting the afternoon light to disturb her.

"I'll come back with some Drought," he told her, leaving the witch to burrow in her very Gryffindor-esque blankets. After delivering the potion to her, he walked back into the main wing.

Checking on the boy, he found McGonagall at side, her wrinkled face puckered in concern. He gave her a small greeting, grabbing a thick blanket from a cabinet. They had destroyed the quidditch jumper and he knew that Hermione would scold him if he left Evan barechested to the cold of the hospital wing.

"I see everything is well, Mr. Malfoy?" She asked, a frail hand smoothing the boy's hair. "And Miss Granger?"

"Resting. She performed most of the surgery," he replied, hands clasped behind his back. "He was in no condition to be sent to Mungo's, but I'm sure Madam Pomfrey will ship him off once she returns." The headmistress nodded, seating herself in the chair adjacent the bed.

"I sent her an owl. We'll be speaking to Wood about stronger gear for the younger students, surely." McGonagall sighed, a hand on her face. "Charming the bludgers will only do more harm, and if I told Oliver he's no longer allowed to use them, he'll have some things to say."

"After today's incident, he'd be a fool not to be more cautious, Headmistress," he conceded. Wood had looked frightened enough when he'd brought the boy in and Draco believed he wouldn't ignore the warning. "I'll write a report and put it in his chart for Madam Pomfrey and yourself to discuss. I can outline a treatment plan if you feel it's necessary, but the healers at the hospital may choose a different path."

"Wonderful, Draco. Thank you, the both of you, for your exemplary work." He gave the woman a small smile in return. He watched her eye the dormitory before speaking quietly again. "Does she still have the anxiety attacks?"

"Ah, yes. This is the first one in a few months, however. They were worse at Mungo's," Draco told her. It didn't surprise him that McGonagall knew, the older witch having a close relationship to his partner.

"They happened nightly during her seventh year; she was here with Poppy often because of them."

Draco hadn't know that, as they rarely discussed their seventh years when they were sober.

"I'm glad the two of you left your animosity behind, Draco. You work splendidly together," she added, a soft look on her face.

"Thank you, Headmistress. I owe her a great deal." Minerva smiled at that, and Draco didn't quite like the look in her eyes. The older generation was made of meddlers and he'd had enough of Slughorn's speculations that he and Hermione were shagging. He really didn't need any of that from McGonagall.

"You're a good man, Draco. She knows that."

* * *

The term ended without incident, Evan's lung healed and working as it should.

Upon her return that evening, Poppy had burst into tears, hugging Draco and Hermione to her motherly chest. It was the most awkward he'd been in a long time, but he let her do so, the kind woman dear to him.

She'd shown him an unimaginable amount of kindness in the short months he'd been at Hogwarts.

She'd kissed Hermione's freckled face many times and Draco had much difficulty holding in his amusement toward the scene.

Poppy ended up sending another report to Mungo's, giving them both additional O's for the term. Evan in fact did send Hermione many bouquets of flowers and boxes of Berty's to Draco. Hermione teased him anytime he ate the silly ones, the two sharing his wine nightly while talking about their days.

Hermione spent the remainder of the year determined to finish a throw blanket for their sofa, knitting it by hand in her spare time. Draco turned his nose up at her Muggle ways and more than once tried to tell her the spell for magical knitting (Hermione, like a child, had covered her ears and shouted at the top of her lungs).

The end result smelled like pumpkin juice because Hermione left her work near the supplies too often; Draco went down to Hogsmeade and bought the strongest laundry charm he could find to spell the scent out. He told her that there was no way he was curling up by the fire with her smelling like pumpkin instead of her perfume.

It was a nice brand, one he recognized from Pansy's collection. She thanked him when he told her so, but blushed profusely for the rest of the night.

Both of them were at Hogwarts for the winter break, but each spent Christmas with their respective families. Hermione had briefly told him about her parents, who she'd left in Australia after the war with their fake personalities intact. Her and Potter spent most holidays with Weasley, but Christmas and the New Year at the Burrow was a tradition.

" _It was easier_ ," she'd said painfully one night. " _They had a lot of trouble understanding all the magic, especially when it got scary_." Draco never really asked her about it, knowing that it was hard for her to remember.

Hermione had come to tea with his mother many times over the years but he'd never worked up the courage to drag her to any of his mother's holiday balls, so he spent them alone and drunk among the high society rats he hated. Draco usually invited Greg to keep him company but he was blindly in love with Pansy and spent most events drooling onto his shoulder while talking about her.

He did end up being dragged out with her friends for the New Year, Molly and Arthur shooing them all out after dinner. They commandeered a table at a magical pub in London that served more Firewhiskey than water and Draco did have a good time, although his liver was angry with him the next few days.

It hadn't been his fault that Ginny was a fan of drinking contests and he had too much pride to back down from anything. He couldn't have known that she was twice the drinker he was, driving him into the floor late into the morning. Hermione teased him endlessly the following weeks when he turned his nose up at any shred of alcohol, reminding him that she had warned him against Ginny.

Draco found out that he got on surprisingly well with Potter and Weasley, the latter still an annoying git, but less so than his Hogwarts days. He discovered that Potter was actually quite an amusing person, Draco never noticing that side of him during school. The man cracked jokes about his friends all night, quipping back at anyone who tried to compete with him.

When the pub had closed and shoved them all out onto the streets of London, they'd made their way to the Burrow, where George lit WWW fireworks. Under the glow of magical dragons and faeries, Draco kissed his best friend sloppily, drunk and giddy.

The others tried very hard to ignore the pair, as they spent the rest of the night kissing, a blanket around them as they sat on the snowy porch.

 _END PART TWO_


	3. PART THREE

_everybody fucking stand up because for the first time, i have finished a chapterfic. i loved writing this and am thankful for all of you who decided to read and give support. it was a fun adventure. don't get your hopes up that i write anymore chapfics instead of just long oneshots lol._

 _don't own shit._

* * *

 _PART THREE_

FEBRUARY, 2012

"Darling," Draco called out to his wife, the witch currently bent over a first year with a fractured radius. Hermione flicked her eyes at him in annoyance, knowing quite well what he was about to say. "Please go sit down."

Hermione stood fully, tucking her wand away so she could use her hands as back support. Her swollen middle, at eight months pregnant, was heavier and just as painful as three bludgers rolling around her insides. She rolled her eyes at Draco, beginning to wrap the girl's set bone. The student giggled softly at the pair, known for their bickering. Hermione gave the girl a sling and a lemon drop, leading her to the hospital wing's entrance.

"Now, keep that out of harm and try not to wet the cast. See me in a couple weeks, but come sooner if it's hurting too much. Tell Hagrid he's not allowed to let you first years around the thestrals if they aren't attached to a carriage." She smiled kindly at the girl, who gave a soft: " _Thank you, Madam Malfoy_ ," before skipping off to her house, a prefect close behind her.

"Do I need to get Neville down here again?" Draco drawled as she waddled past him, checking him with an elbow. He feigned injury, leaning against their desk. She swatted at him again and he caught her hand instead, leading her into the armchair she insisted on putting in the wing two years ago.

"I can handle a broken bone, Draco," she huffed. "You're worse than Hig and your mother combined, Merlin."

"I'll be sure to bring that up at dinner this Sunday," he laughed. After three years of marriage, the two of them still teased each other to no end. "You'd hurt Hig's feelings, my love. We both know you wouldn't want that."

Hermione sent him a scowl and he came and placed a kiss on her brow.

"I'll make tea," he said, a hand patting her middle. "If you get out of this chair I'm getting Neville, and you'll have to explain why I pulled the headmaster away from his supper."

"Hate you," Hermione muttered and Draco chuckled, leaving the wing for their office where the kettle and fixings were. She yawned dramatically, rubbing her belly, the baby swimming nonstop inside her. "And _you,_ my little Rhea, are a pain and a half. I reckon I'll get no sleep for the rest of my life." She grinned as a kick illustrated the child's response.

Hermione sat quietly for a few moments, the sound of a kettle whirring from the other room filling up the hospital wing's gloomy silence. She often wondered how Poppy kept sane all by herself here. Her and Draco couldn't have been the only residents at Hogwarts, but they were definitely the first in a while. As matron now, Hermione was extremely glad that she could wear whatever she wanted and not the awful hospital garb the pair had worn in their residency. She still slapped on an apron every now and then, but that was merely so that she didn't smell of pumpkin juice and vomit until her death.

Draco entered shortly with their mugs, handing Hermione hers before settling back into a desk chair. He'd usurp the armchair from his wife while she was on maternity leave, but he obviously let her have it for the time being. She was due in three weeks and refused to return to the manor any sooner than a week before her due date.

It was frustrating but Draco could understand why Hermione wouldn't want to spend two weeks alone in the Manor with his mother and the elves coddling her. He was sure she'd get enough of that while on leave (Draco was also quite sure he'd hear about it often).

The couple had taken over the hospital wing in 2007, Poppy sending them a letter in the summer after their residency announcing her retirement. Minerva had been pleased with their performance and immediately set the duo up for the start of the new school year. Both Hermione and Draco had been scared out of their wits, but the first year passed rather smoothly in terms of students almost dying.

Draco wondered what Smethwyck thought of him now. He'd said kind words about him at the graduation ceremony, but it was all very textbook and noncommittal.

Moving into Hogwarts also began the neverending of feud of _my stuff goes here_ and _no it absolutely does not, Malfoy_ , that still continued to this day. It was also very hard, once the two married, for Hermione to decide which books were to live at Hogwarts for her weeks and what was left behind for the weekend.

They had their own wing of the Manor, complete with too many fancy bedrooms and studies, but Hermione had her own library with a connected floo, so she couldn't complain all that much. Draco had feigned vomiting when he saw what she had done to the very Slytherin-esque decor, her own touches unlike the rest of the Malfoy home.

Draco and Hermione made the decision to spend Monday until Saturday morning at Hogwarts, and then the remains of Saturday and Sunday with Narcissa at the Manor. They always kept sure to notify Neville where they would be on the weekends in case of emergency, the both of them switching between who was on call when.

Some Saturdays Hermione dragged her husband to the Burrow for the large Weasley dinner, which was basically a night of Draco being asked inappropriate questions by the Weasley men. Arthur usually just sat back and let the chaos unfold. During the course of Hermione's pregnancy, Molly had given her enough handmade clothes to last through Rhea's fourth year at Hogwarts.

The Weasley matriarch had knit galaxies and stars into the girl's letter sweater, joking sheepishly to Draco about their family's name tradition. He'd laughed about it in the moment, but he truly did enjoy the way Molly had charmed the stars to shine. Narcissa had fawned over it for days, something he wouldn't expect of his aristocratic mother.

Draco had the elves try out every WWW toy that was sent their way, not fully trusting Ron or George not to prank his unborn daughter. Hermione waved off the exploding rattles and tongue tying pacifiers, but she did some awful howlers to her extended brothers for the jokes.

Harry had given them a very expensive, top of the line child's broom, Ginny adding in Harpies memorabilia despite Draco's hatred for the team (it was often the start of many arguments in the Weasley house or the pubs). Every single one of Rhea's aunts and uncles had very biased gifts, and Hermione had to specifically tell Charlie that he could not gift their daughter a dragon. It had to be repeated several times, both in verbal and written terms.

Rhea's nursery was full of treasure for the girl to explore when she was older, and Draco knew that there would be bets drawn for whose gifts were favoured.

Finishing her tea, Hermione reached for her husband's hand, his long, pale fingers wrapping around hers. She smiled at him and he returned it in kind, tracing a thumb across her knuckles.

"What do I have to do in order for you to carry me to bed?" She asked, rolling her head to the side. Draco sighed, taking her mug and setting it on their desk to be cleaned later. Hermione lifted her legs for him, Draco taking the heavy woman in his arms. He was glad for the workouts he did in the gym the Room of Requirement gave him, or else he'd have dropped Hermione at some point. He guessed she'd never forgive him for that.

"Oh, just get Higgle to make me your special biscuits as payment. She enjoys playing in the flour anyway," he said, grinning. Hermione hummed, her head against Draco's chest.

* * *

"She has a bassinet for a reason, mother," Draco said, sitting next to Hermione on a couch in the parlour. Narcissa was currently holding Rhea to her chest, something she did almost every second that Hermione didn't have the baby.

"Hush, Draco. She's my first grandchild, I'm allowed to coddle her." She gave her son a firm look, but it softened as she gazed back down at the infant in her arms. The grandchild in question was fast asleep, swaddled in a green blanket and cap. Rhea, at three weeks old, rarely opened her eyes for anyone but her parents and enjoyed napping in her grandmother's arms. Narcissa bristled anytime she was referred to as such, claiming she looked far younger than a grandmother should.

Hermione had gone into labour the day she started maternity leave, something Draco liked to bring up often. She'd barely settled in before her water broke all over one of his father's prized rugs (Hermione was actually quite pleased about that). Draco flooed his paternity leave replacement from St. Mungo's before arriving home to find his wife, Higgle, mother, and several midwives in his bedroom, Hermione sweating from the pain.

He removed Hig from her mistress' side, asking the elf to attend to whatever the midwives needed. Draco sat at Hermione's side, arm around her back as she spent twelve hours in labour, an " _I hate you, you pureblooded bastard_ ," hissed at him during every other contraction. Hermione did indeed break his hand several times, but he simply healed it and gave it back to her.

Narcissa spent the entire labour calmly applying a cold press to Hermione's face and neck, tying back her unruly curls every time they shook loose. There were a couple comments about how her grandchild better not have such troublesome locks.

Rhea Andromeda Malfoy, born at 6:19 in the morning on February 27, weighed 9lbs 9oz and had one big head.

"She better not be a Weasley," Draco had teased when the nurses told him how much Rhea weighed. Hermione, in her tired state, had bit back that her and Ron rekindled their love after her marriage to Draco and that they'd been having an affair the entire time. He chose not to respond, as he was being handed his squabbling daughter, all red and wrinkly from her time in the womb.

Sitting next to Hermione, he placed Rhea in her arms.

"Can't be Ron's," she whispered, a finger stroking the squirming girl's nose. "She's got Narcissa's eyes." His mother cried at that point and Draco smiled, arms around his wife and child.

Now, three weeks later, Rhea had been handed off to every Weasley, Potter, professor, and family friend alike. Pansy had gone pale at the idea of holding her, but Narcissa had practically forced the baby into her arms, which caused Greg to get that _we need to go home and make a child now_ look in his eyes. Both Draco and Hermione snickered about it later when they were alone.

Both parents had refused to let Narcissa hold a presentation ball for Rhea anytime soon, the two both quite tired and unenthusiastic about the idea of carting their infant around a room of rich, drunk people. Hermione told her mother in law that she'd wear sweats to the event if it was held before Rhea was two months old, which made Narcissa roll her eyes, but drop the subject nonetheless.

The couple was quite happy, if not sleep deprived, and they spent their days with their daughter, Draco taking walks in his mother's enclosed gardens with Rhea in his arms when Hermione needed naps. With the harsh winter causing drafts everywhere, he had Hig seal every window more than once with warming charms, scared out of his wits that she would catch a sickness in such a fragile state.

Draco hated changing nappies, but did so without complaint. In the first week, one comment about nappies had him sitting through a half hour lecture from his wife about twelve hour labours and what they did to a person's body.

Neither of them returned to Hogwarts for the remainder of the school year, the temporary healer from St. Mungo's covering for the both of them until June. Draco would return in September and Hermione would be back after the winter break. Hermione, being the control freak that she was, had them plan it out when they discovered she was pregnant.

They did end up attending the end of year feast, Rhea in a pram between the two of them for most of it. Hermione had several students come up to fawn over the baby and even let a few of the upper years hold her, with very strict guidance.

When Hagrid met Rhea he wept very large tears, his fat hands gingerly holding her small body. Draco had patted the half giant's back, holding back his laughter with everything he had.

* * *

Draco finished bottling the Dreamless Drought he made, setting the crate of vials in the cupboard. They made it mostly for the scared first years that couldn't get through the year without homesickness or nightmares. Hermione'd given out the last drop of it to a Hufflepuff days ago, and he was forced to brew more.

Hermione usually let him brew the potions, as she wasn't too savvy with them, but her salves and balms were always outstanding compared to his, something he couldn't quite understand.

Draco remembers helping her cheat in their third year potions exam at Mungo's, whispering that she needed more valerian root as he passed her. Hermione went pink anytime he reminded her, and he would smirk, knowing she wouldn't have passed that year if he hadn't. Such was their relationship.

It was nearing curfew and Draco packed up all the potion equipment, watching as Hermione healed a few scrapes on a fifth year (the professors refused to take healing lessons from either of them, much to their annoyance) before sending him off to his dormitory. She closed up the large doors and sealed them with the alarm that would notify either of them that someone needed medical attention.

"Ready, love?" He asked, retreating to their office where the fireplace was.

"It's been a long week," she said to him, grabbing a handful of floo powder. She stepped out into the Manor's traveling room, hearing the sounds of her daughter from down the hall, where she was most likely keeping her grandmother up in the parlour.

"Yes," Draco answered, stepping out behind her, brushing off soot from the both of them. Hermione let down her curls from the bun she kept it in on work days, her hair reaching her waist these days, and stretched. Draco winced as many of her bones popped, and he urged her to stop with a hand on her arm. "Let's go see Rhea before you break something. I'm sure mother will be glad to see us."

Fridays were usually the day that Rhea caused her grandmother the most grief, as she was old enough now to recognize the schedule her parents kept.

Narcissa was waiting in the hall for them, hands clasped around tiny ones, one year old Rhea bouncing on her feet as Draco and Hermione approached. She wasn't quite walking yet, but by summer she'd most likely be sprinting away from any adult, the mischievous girl that she was.

"Hello, my darling," Hermione greeted, scooping her up. Draco placed a kiss on his daughter's head, Rhea's crown of sandy curls tickling his face. She had a mix of their colours, but her hair leaned more toward the Malfoy genes. She was covered head to toe in freckles, however.

Both of them kissed Narcissa's cheek before the witch retreated to her own wing for some quiet time, her elf popping to her side. Rhea gurgled, softly waving goodbye to her grandmother and Hermione smiled.

"Now, darling, I'd say it's time for a bath and bedtime," Draco said quietly, softly tapping Rhea's nose. She detested bathtime, and therefore gave him a sour look, recognizing the word for "soapy prison," as Hermione liked to call it. They made their way to their wing, stopping by the nursery to grab Rhea's sleep clothes.

It was easier to bathe the wiggly child in their large tub rather than try her own child's bathroom, both parents opting to climb in and bathe with her rather than struggling with her splashes from the side. The warmth of baths helped Rhea sleep as well, and so was their nightly ritual. The girl was very much like her father when it came to falling asleep: she fought it for as long as she could, finally passing out at late hours.

Hermione used to get so annoyed with Draco's sleeping habits, but four years of marriage helped her to ignore it, just like he ignored her chainsaw snores. A _muffliato_ would just keep him awake longer, so he got used to it, with minor teasing along the way.

Tag teaming different washing duties, Draco and Hermione cleaned Rhea quickly, allowing the one year old to splash around in the shallow water in the hopes that she would tire herself out. Eventually, when her eyes started to droop, Hermione leant back against Draco, Rhea against her bare chest. It was a nice bonding moment for the three of them after being away for twelve hours every day.

"Happy Friday," Hermione murmured, her head resting on Draco's shoulder. "Think we can nap the weekend away?"

"I promised mother we'd go with her to the opera tomorrow night, so I doubt it. I think Ginny agreed to take the little miss for the night. Merlin knows Rhea would destroy the elves," Draco chuckled quietly, patting his daughter's soft back. He gave Hermione's crown a kiss, pushing her curls out of his face. "I can go alone if you'd like."

"No, I enjoy time with your mother," she replied genuinely. "Maybe we should make Pansy babysit."

They both enjoyed a laugh at her comment and fell into a comfortable silence, Hermione deep in thought. She'd been thinking lately about how much her husband had changed in the twelve years since befriending him at Mungo's, how the hurt victim of war had healed into a loving husband and father.

He didn't try to hide his mark or his scars from her anymore and neither did she.

The Malfoy she'd known in school rarely laughed or smiled and brought up the past as a way of beating himself down, whereas the man Draco was now seemed to be happy and optimistic. Hermione remembered when he barely let her touch him, always shying away from her kind hands, and now they were cuddling in the bath with Rhea, comfortable and content.

Draco was still a git, yes, but a happy one, and Hermione loved him.

Hermione felt herself getting teary and wondered if her period was coming. Draco would probably know, as he kept track of her irregular uterus more than she did. It came whenever it wanted to after Rhea was born and he was usually able to tell just by the change in her energy. He'd never tell her, but Hermione knew that he had Hig stock the bathrooms with sanitary products when he felt the shift.

It would almost be endearing if he didn't get all uncomfortable when she had her hormone induced weepy fits.

Draco broke the silence by pulling the stopper chain with his foot, the bath water filtering down the drain. He pressed another kiss into her head before getting out from behind her, wrapping a robe around himself, and taking Rhea from her fatigued arms. The little girl squirmed slightly at the movement, but didn't break out of her slumber, thankfully.

She watched him gingerly dress Rhea in her pajamas, slowly exiting the tub to wrap her own robe around her wet body. Draco carried the sleeping child to the nursery, the lights in the hall and rooms lowered courtesy of Hig. Hermione loved that elf.

Rhea was placed in her crib, starfished on her stomach with her stuffed Holyhead Harpy tucked at her side. Draco gave his daughter one last kiss before heading back to his and Hermione's bedroom. Hermione usually stayed for a couple minutes to make sure Rhea settled.

Hig entered the room soon after with a cup of tea in her hand, offering it to her mistress.

"Thank you, my dear," Hermione said softly, drinking the warming liquid. Even in April the Manor had a chill and she finished the cup quickly.

"Hig sees the Young Missus is asleep?"

"Yes, Hig, you needn't watch her tonight." They often had Hig watch Rhea after she was put down, in case the fussy child refused to sleep. In those instances, Hig would perform small charms to soothe the baby. The elf truly was a gift, one Hermione never thought she'd have. Hermione bent over the side of the crib, smoothing Rhea's already unruly hair, still damp. "Goodnight, moon," she whispered, her own little Muggle joke.

There were parts of her that were still too Muggle, causing her to wash dishes or tie bandages by hand instead of with magic, and her Hogwarts self would likely faint at the idea of owning an elf. Her old self amused her to no end.

"Mistress, may Hig ask you something?" The elf's small voice sounded afraid in that moment and Hermione gazed down at her, nodding. Hig fiddled with her kerchief, afraid to meet Hermione's eye. "Hig was wondering if she could touch Mistress' belly, just for a moment."

The question caught the witch completely off guard and she stood silent for a few moments, which caused the elf to fidget even more, closing in on herself.

"Hig is apologizing, Mistress," she said very quietly, looking at her sneakered feet.

"No, it's alright. I was just surprised is all," Hermione quickly told her elf. Hig made the empty tea mug disappear and reached out her bony hands as Hermione opened her robe slightly to reveal her naked lower half.

The elf took a couple moments feeling her stomach, prodding here and there. Hermione was surprised at how hot Higgle's hands were, as the tiny creature was always shaking. She had always assumed it was from the cold. Hermione of course couldn't offer any thicker clothing and left the subject alone.

When she was done, Hermione closed her robe and looked at the elf expectantly.

Hig had a peculiar smile on her face, putting one hand to her mouth.

"It seems Mistress will be having another," Hig told her before popping out of the room, leaving Hermione to stand alone in the nursery, shocked.

Hermione stayed there for a while, opening her robe again to look at her stomach. She summoned her wand from the bedroom and performed a conception spell, waiting ten minutes to see what colour glowed from her middle.

It was red. She was pregnant.

Walking back to her room, she entered in a happy daze to find Draco on his side, still wet hair slicked off his forehead. He was reading a Muggle novel, but looked up at her entrance. He raised an eyebrow, noticing she was in an odd mood.

"Hermione?" Draco questioned, closing the book. She smiled, coming to her side of the bed.

"Better get the star charts out, love."

 _END_

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 _thanks for reading!_


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